What The Fire Started
by HoofHaven
Summary: It's been only a few months since the rebellion ended and Katniss and Peeta returned to their lives in District 12, healing together. That is, until a fire destroys Katniss's house, along with almost all her belongings, and she has to live with him. DISCONTINUED
1. Flames

**Author's Note**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim or wish to claim any of the characters I have mentioned and or portrayed. 'The Hunger Games' trilogy is copyrighted to Suzanne Collins and I have no intention of copyright infringement. This is written strictly for entertainment purposes only. Thank you.**

**Rather short chapter to start off, but this is my first Everlark fic so I thank you for reading ^^ Sorry if anyone comes out as OOC on the way. Trying to get the feel of the characters.**

**Please review and tell me what you think, whether you like it or not! It helps me write better in the long run.**

Prim.

That's the face that conjures up into my mind. Who is standing before me, expressionless, unmoving, her shirt still having the back end poking out like a little duck tail. She doesn't blink, she doesn't show any sign of recognition towards me. I clear my throat and in a hushed voice whisper, "Prim?"

Her eyes lose the glaze, her head snaps up, and she finally seems to see me for the first time, even if she was only looking at me just as she was now a second ago. "Katniss?" She says, slowly tasting my name, a hint of confusion in her voice.

And that's when I see the bomb in her hands.

"Prim, no, drop the bomb," I say, eyes widening, taking a step forward, desperate to get to her. But I only realize too late that I've stepped off the plate before the 60 seconds. It explodes, the bomb in Prim's hands explodes, and we're engulfed in fire. "PRIM!" I screamed, feeling my heart being ripped from my own chest.

"You...you did this.." I hear her voice hissing through the flames. "You left me to die... you didn't save me.."

And that's when I hear her voice joined by another. "You're just another one of the Capitol's mutts." I feel the fire rake across my back, my leg, forcing me on my knees and staring into the eyes that could only be recognized as President Snow's. "Now, Katniss, I thought we promised not to lie to each other?" His voice boomed as he smiled. I felt my left ear go silent followed by an overwhelming smell of blood and roses.

Jolting out of bed, emitting the first scream of the night and trying to swallow the rest. My chest rises rapidly as I remember where I am, that it wasn't real, that it was only a nightmare that torments me. I'm almost startled to find that Peeta isn't with me. But I can hear him, banging on something, shouting my name, his voice flooded with urgency.

And that's when I turn to see the fire.

It had slowly just started to creep into my room, licking at the walls, desperate to spread the destruction I'm sure it was already doing to the rest of my home in Victors Village. Jumping up and out of bed, I'm already running, throwing open the door and immediately getting an up close and personal feeling of fire. Already the smoke hits me like a wall and fills the room, intent on suffocating me and anything else living. "Peeta!" I cough, stumbling out in the hall, trying to see as much as escape. "Peeta!"

"Katniss!" I hear him shout, hearing me, and a sudden huge crash tells me he probably just busted down my front door. Why did I decide to lock it, of all nights? "Katniss, hold on, I'm coming!"

I'm not sure when I reach the stairs, but I know I do because I trip down the first steps. Barely gaining my footing enough to continue, I hear something creaking and my heart nearly stops with dread. And smoke. The ceiling is going to cave in at any second; I have to get out. Coughing, I ignore my agonized lungs and continue to press forward, moving faster and with a more fleeing way of doing so. "Peeta," I sputter, trying not to cough or vomit or anything that would slow me down. Apparently he's close enough, because I can hear his own coughing and he tries to return my call.

The book. It catches the corner of my eye as I nearly run past it. It's the book Peeta and I have worked on for ages, recalling everyone and anyone who we know died for the rebellion, including Prim. The ceiling cracks and groans, threatening to fall on me and even possibly Peeta, who I know can't be far away because I can still hear him trying to plow through the smoke. "Peeta-" I try to call again, but I'm cut off by my own severe choking and coughing. Eyes watering, I make a split decision to grab the thick book full of untouched yet slightly singed pages. It was only luck that as soon as my fingers secured it a strong arm snaked out of the smoke and grabbed my shoulder. "Katniss!" Peeta shouts again, trying not to allow his body to have a coughing fit. "Come on, we need to get out of here!"

He somehow manages to figure his way out, nearly having to drag me along into the cool night. The house is beyond saving now; the majority of it is too destroyed beyond recognition. The adrenaline seeps away for just a second and I'm stuck coughing, heaving, my body wracking itself as it tries to get the smoke out and the air in. Peeta seems no better off; I'm pretty sure he's still gasping for air when he pulls me up into his arms, the two of us still both miserably coughing. "Are you alright?" He asks, his voice hoarse and rough. I can only manage a small, brief nod, but that seems enough for him.

Haymitch, who we hadn't seen, comes drunkenly running up to us, breathless from the 'trek' he had to make to reach us. "What the-?" He starts to yell, but a large groan of wood cuts him off sharply. Grabbing at us, forcing us up on our feet, away from the house, he sputters utter nonsense, but I turn back to look.

The house came crashing down, and in that moment, so did the rest of my world.


	2. Burns

**Author's Note**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim or wish to claim any of the characters I have mentioned and or portrayed. 'The Hunger Games' trilogy is copyrighted to Suzanne Collins and I have no intention of copyright infringement. This is written strictly for entertainment purposes only. Thank you.**

**This is my first Everlark fic so I thank you for reading ^^ Sorry if anyone comes out as OOC on the way. Trying to get the feel of the characters.**

**Something about this chapter severely irks me in the beginning, I'm not sure if it's how I wrote it in general or if the characters are weird for their personalities, or if it just feels like a filler. I promise to try next time and actually get somewhere in the story UvU**

**Please review and tell me what you think, whether you like it or not! It helps me write better in the long run.**

* * *

><p>"Katniss."<p>

I paid no attention to my name. I didn't want to listen to anyone, to hear anyone right now. Even if it was Peeta calling me.

"Katniss, look at me."

I shut my eyes. It's such a childish act, but I really_ did not_ want to be in the middle of social interaction right now. I had just lost my home. My only home left. It still had precious belongings in it, like my game bag, my arrows – thankfully my bow was untouched by the flames, oh how I loved Beetee for that – the untouched room that Prim lived in, the picture of my fath –

I took a deep breath, something I never thought would feel so good after nearly being killed by not the flames themselves but the devilish smoke. _Now is not the time to cry._ "Katniss, please, will you listen to me for just a few seconds?"

I slowly opened my eyes, not saying anything, not looking at Peeta, but that alone seemed to be his cue to talk. Now that he had his audience, though, he seemed at a loss for words. My patience was running low to start with; he wasn't doing anything to help it. He finally asked something, even if it was just to get one out.

"...Why did you have the door locked?" He asked. It was a good question as any to ask; I never lock my door in case the nightmares are too much to handle on my own. The question was puzzling for myself too; why _did_ I have my front door locked? I had even told him myself I suspected that last night would have been one of the worst episodes. Shifting my eyes up only a little. He was wearing a dark navy blue shirt, a few bulked up areas where bandages for burns where wrapped. "I don't know." I said, still giving a bit of a cough at the end of my sentence. He seems like he wants to ask further, but his thoughts get the better of him and he merely sits beside me.

"Do you know how..how it started?" He asked, choosing his words carefully and speaking them slowly. I shook my head. It was almost like I was in the stage of being a mental Avox again. Swallowing, I turned to look at him. "I don't know anything, Peeta." I said, my voice calm and level. "I know I was having a nightmare, at the very least, and woke up to your banging and yelling." Frowning, I let him guess the rest on his own. Surely it wasn't that hard to imagine.

Greasy Sae came in, cutting off whatever questions he might have had with her own. "Quite a scare you gave Twelve last night." She said, standing in front of me and examining the acquired burns on my feet, my hands, and my face. 'Up close and personal' became 'stuck face into fire', apparently, but I didn't object except for a few notes of pain escaping my throat. She did the exact same thing to Peeta, who also didn't try to go against Sae's firm examinations, but I could see a few hints of discomfort flicker across his face. Satisfied with our progress, she sat in her normal old rocking chair. Sae's house was always a comforting place to be at, no matter the circumstances.

"So," She said, gentle but also to the point. "It's to my understanding that you no longer have a place to stay, Katniss."

"...That's correct." I say hesitantly. Peeta stiffens beside me and I can feel like he's going to say something. He does.

"Not true." He claims. "She can stay with me."

Both Greasy Sae and I look at him, eyebrows arched. He blinks, as if not really understanding what's so surprising. After all, he _did_ tend to stay over at my house...when it was still fully standing and not in a pile of ash and rubble. I guess he's right; it wouldn't be that big of a change. He would stay at my own house for days and days on end. It would just be a simple switch.

"Alright, then," Sae responds, as if getting the same realization that I do. "Come back every few days to let me check on the burns." With a short nod, we are excused, and in the five minutes it takes us to get back on our feet and into town, Peeta is talking again.

"Anything you need while we're here?" He asks me. I could name several different things I needed at the moment right off the top of my head, even more, but I shake my head. "Not particularly now, no."

I can tell he's fighting off both a frown and a grin at the same time. "Katniss, you're a horrible liar." He finally says, settling on one of his small smiles that he likes to use on me. "Now what do you need?"

_A new house_, I thought surlily, but there were some other things before that. I had a house now; I was just sharing it with Peeta. New clothes would be more of a reasonable request, if he wanted one that badly. I doubt he'd be wanting me to borrow from him soon. Sae was plenty generous, but there was always a time when someone took too much advantage of another and I didn't want to cross the line, much less come near it. Peeta didn't miss a step when I tell him this.

"New clothes, new boots, new arrows..." He said under his breath, deliberately loud enough so I could just make out his words. He was already scratching off most of the stuff I had in mind! "We don't have to get anything today." I say. "It would probably be better if we didn't get it all anyways."

Peeta considers my reluctant tone over the thought of replacing supplies. "We can at least get the new clothes and boots." He says, but I can already see he's going to come home late with other things. We go into the shops, retrieve what we need, or at least what I'll let him buy. By the time we're finally finished, it's mid-day and most of everyone is out and about. It's no doubt the fire is the gossip of the day; we both get glances ranging from suspicious to worry to pity. All of them I don't want; but it's something beyond my control. Sensing my discomfort, Peeta shifts over the items he's carrying to one arm and draping the other over my shoulders, giving me a light squeeze. I immediately almost feel safe.

We didn't talk much after we came back to District 12. Mother ran off to play doctor in District 4, Gale went to District 2, and a lot of the people who once called this their home decided to stay in District 13. Peeta was still recovering, regaining and sorting his memories out on his own. It wasn't that I left him alone; I was quite intent on being a part of his healing process. He didn't like it one bit; thus shutting me out entirely for a few months. It was a good day if I had seen him, even if it was just a glance before he disappeared from my view. It was infuriating, the way he knew how to manipulate his risk of being a danger to me to avoid me in general.

That was when the nightmares started again, and he had no real choice but to come back. To grit his teeth, tighten his fists, and watch as he fought with himself. "Real or not real?" He always seemed to demand, getting a cool and calming reply in response even though his whole point of coming over was to break the nightmare's hold on my dreams. Eventually, the game started to end, his flashbacks growing mild, but not gone. They grew less and less, but I still recall times where his grip on me is too tight, he slips in and out of dozing with sputters of 'Real or Not Real'. We still remember the past, as hard as it is to recall, but we're struggling to make a way for future.

"I'll have to go back into town, soon." Peeta says, snapping me out of my thoughts. No doubt it's for all the other stuff he said he wouldn't get today; but he plays it off innocently with mention of the new bakery they're constructing. _His_ bakery. I can see the giddiness flash across his face at the mention of it and I can't help but give a hint of a smile. "They're almost finished with it, right?" I ask, letting him think I truly believe him. It's apparent how triumphantly smug he looks.

"Almost," He says. "They're supposed to be painting it tomorrow. I plan on opening it as soon as I can, so it's likely I'll be busy baking."

"The shop is going to be full every day for quite a while," I comment. "People pay a lot for good bread." I refrain from using the phrase 'People will kill', because it's both come to us that a lot of people will.

Peeta nods, pulling me closer to him, his gentle natured grin still resting on his face. "That's why I'm excited."

Of course, our moment of peace has to end somewhere. The sight of my house – or what was once of it – came into view. That's when I remember Peeta's house is right across from it. The small and slight breeze picks up a few of the ashes, carrying it away, almost as if to make sure the house can never be rebuilt. Not that I could try, anyways. I must have froze when I saw it, because Peeta is gently squeezing my hand and whispering something. I don't really hear it. I don't know if I want to.

Images of Prim flash through my mind. Running upstairs to her room. Helping hang the clothes to dry. Sweet innocent Prim sitting on the porch, nose in a book, clearly consumed by the words that she reads. Innocent Prim who can no longer come home. Guilt overwhelms me, but Peeta manages to break through.

"Katniss."

My vision jerks up and I lock eyes with his blue ones. Worry floods through his face followed by a frown. "Katniss, are you okay?"

It takes me a few seconds to answer before I nod, but that was a few seconds too long for him. "You don't have to stay with me if you don't want." He says. "Either that or I can find another way –"

"I'm alright." I say to him, returning his squeeze. "At least, I will be." Tearing my gaze from the charred remains, I continue to walk, his hand still in mine, and he eventually follows. Trotting up the steps, he quickly manages to open the door, allowing me to step inside and set things down on the table before closing the door. Instantly, I smell the warm scent of bread that could only be Peeta's. Such a familiar, welcoming sense of home. I bite the inside of my cheek at the thought of home, but quickly put it out of my mind for now.

"Here," Peeta says, laying down a quiver full of pristine looking arrows, ready for use. "I have to go back into town, but I thought you might like to hunt for a while." _Clear your mind, bring home some squirrels for dinner,_ I could almost imagine him saying. But he didn't, just stood there, waiting for me to respond, patient as ever. Taking up one of the arrows and examining it, I could see it wasn't like the Capitol's arrows but neither like the ones I used to use. It would be a tad complicated getting used to them, but there were still several hours left in the day. "Thank you." I said, sounding too formal for my liking. He didn't seem to notice.

The lake's small waves rolled softly and silently onto the banks, disturbing nothing in it's path, it's rhythm unchanging. Spring brought a peaceful feel about the forest, thriving with life...and game. Already stuffed in my makeshift burlap game bag was a few squirrels, rabbits, and even a fox I had managed to snag. Tomorrow I would be able to take at least half of it to Sae; she's always pleased when I bring back fresh meat for her and the rest. Standing and whispering, "Good night," to my bow, I grabbed my bag and started to make my way out of the forest. It's a long day ahead, but the it's the night that strikes fear in me.

So much for sleep.


	3. Scars

**Author's Note**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim or wish to claim any of the characters I have mentioned and or portrayed. 'The Hunger Games' trilogy is copyrighted to Suzanne Collins and I have no intention of copyright infringement. This is written strictly for entertainment purposes only. Thank you.**

**This is my first Everlark fic so I thank you for reading ^^ Sorry if anyone comes out as OOC on the way. Trying to get the feel of the characters.**

**I've noticed a pattern developing in most fics I've read in passing time where they include Peeta having one of his more stronger flashbacks. I really kind of played with the concept here, tried to see if I could maybe come up with a different way than most people would portray Katniss in these type of scenarios. Let's hope I didn't mess up too badly, eh? XD**

**Please review and tell me what you think, whether you like it or not! It helps me write better in the long run. **

The mouth watering smell of bread reaches my nose as soon as I take a step in Peeta's house. The game weighs heavily on the arm that holds it, ready to be prepped for whatever dinner he has decided to surprise me with. His house was so familiar with my own it was hard not to mistake it for such; it was just as if he had come over like he had every night to help me cook my own meals before battling the nightmares that consumed not just him but myself too. The thought made my throat tighten, but I quickly swallowed it back down. The clink my bow makes when I set it down in the hallway seems to alert him, because the movement about the kitchen quiets and I see his head poke into view with his usual smile. "Have a good hunt?" He asks.

"Decent," I reply. "I think you'll be pleased to know I caught a few squirrels today, so we can have them for dinner." He was just like his father had been; he loved his squirrels and was about as picky. I didn't miss the slight glint in his eye as he looked at the bag. "Excellent," He said, and I couldn't help but feel content as he returned to the kitchen.

Dinner was surprisingly quiet as we ate. Silence seemed to echo off the walls more than the sound of an occasional clink or scrape from silverware on the plates."It's good, Peeta," I said quietly, before taking another bite. I meet his eyes for just a second as he flashes a smirk. "Thank you."

Apparently it wasn't the only thing that was flashing. He suddenly clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palms, clenching his jaw, his knuckles white as he clutched his fork. It was another one of his episodes; any second he'd get up and lock himself in his room, and that would be the end of our dinner.

"Peeta," I say, reaching a light hand forward out to his, but he jerks away from me. "Don't."

He starts to rise out of his chair, eyes shut tight, but I'm not letting him leave so easily. Not this time. Both of my hands snake out to wrap an iron grip on his wrist, pulling at him, a grimace on my face. "No, Peeta, _you_ don't," I say, giving his wrist a tight squeeze. He takes in a sharp breath and I suddenly realize that this is one of his more difficult sessions. Ones that he can't really control.

"Katniss, let go!" He snaps at me, trying to wrench his arm away from me, but I somehow dig my heels into the floor and set back on him. He's bigger than me, but I have the strength from carrying around a bag full of game, and occasionally a 100 pound deer. We even each other out, my weight combining with my upper body strength to keep him from moving. I can tell he's losing his fight inside, but it only makes me pull harder. "Not going to happen," I snarl right back at him. Sometimes a dose of your own stubborn medicine can help a person, I've found in the past. Whether this was the time for it or not, I would figure out soon enough.

"Katniss, I'm going to end up hurting you!" He said through gritted teeth. "Just _let GO_!" Yanking his arm up and giving it a good shake, I let out a gasp as he tosses me to the kitchen floor, sending me flat on my back and jerking my head to smack against the hard tile. I can see him freeze where he's at when he hears my surprised cry, fighting with himself and with the guilt that now must have just detonated in his chest. "Katniss," He breathes, and it's clear there's pain in his voice.

"I'm alright, Peeta," I say, quietly, feeling the knot slowly begin to rise where my head came in contact with the solid floor. "You didn't mean it. I know you didn't." Rising slowly, feeling a tad dizzy as I did so, I regain my footing and take light, slow steps towards him. When I grab his wrist again, it's with a soft touch and a gentle caress. He glances briefly at his arm, but keeps the majority of his gaze pinned at the floor where I landed. "Peeta," I say, trying to break through to him. The hijacking after effect had left him as soon as we both heard the low _thud_. Now I was trudging through his guilt; trying to reach him through that.

"Peeta, look at me," I say, sounding just as he had this morning. "Will you please listen to me for just a few seconds?"

It seemed to reach him through his haze, and he looked at me, face a little paler than usual. I see this as my chance and begin quickly. "Peeta, it's okay. I'm not hurt. Don't worry about it-"

I'm cut off by his hand – which I still have a light grip on – reaching behind me and touching exactly where the knot is, sending me nearly stiff. "Not injured, huh?" He says, pulling away his hand to show me the blood on the tips of his fingers. Oops. His voice carries a hint of anger, but I know it isn't directed at me.

"It's only a little blood." I say, reaching behind myself and feeling. The wound was light, nothing to be worried about too much, but he wasn't buying it. "Peeta, please. I know you wouldn't hurt anyone. You can't help the flash–"

"It doesn't _matter_ if I can or can't help it!" He says angrily. "The point is, I'm a danger to you and potentially to others! I can seriously hurt someone if I have another flashback as bad as this one!" Pulling himself away from me, despite my attempts to keep him here, he trudges up the stairs with a mutter of 'Taking a shower' and I hear the door to his room slam. I can tell he didn't lock it, but it's obvious he wants to be alone. I leave him to his thoughts and finish dinner silently.

"I don't know.." A voice says, tired, begging...no, _pleading_. "Please, I'll do whatever you want...just leave her alone..."

Suddenly I find myself in a hallway. It's bright white, almost to the point I have to squint, and smells of the antiseptic used in hospitals. I wrinkle my nose at the smell, but it hurts when it's burnt. At least, I remember it being burnt.

The noise of shuffling feet alerts me. By the sound, it seems as if the person is barely standing, either injured or disoriented. "Don't hurt her...don't hurt her.." A voice says, droning on and on as the steps sound closer. A pang of fear strikes me just as the first foot comes into view right around the corner. It's a dirty boot. Not unlike the one Peeta wore in the first game. My heart stops as the rest of his body comes to follow.

He's still dirty from his camouflage escape, and his gash is still deep and nasty looking as ever. He drags the injured leg behind him, looking sick and feverish, but still somehow managing to walk on his own. He stops as he sees me, a wave of emotions flying through his eyes, until they settle on something cold I have only seen in those eyes a few times before. The icy bite of hatred. "Don't touch her," He growls at me. "You did this, you took her away from me, you hurt her."

"Peeta, I don't – " I start, but I don't get to finish. He's hurling accusations at me, every foul name he can think of, and for a split second I realize it's because he's been hijacked before he lunges at me and sends me flat on my back, paralyzed with the sudden whiplash feeling. "Die," He hisses, dropping a match, and that's when I start to scream.

"Katniss. Katniss. _Katniss!_"

Something jerks me awake and I'm staring into Peeta's wide awake blue eyes, the ones that aren't hindered by pain or confusion or hatred. Instead, they're flooded with alarm and worry, and for some reason that only flares my hysteria. Suppressing whatever oncoming tears that I might have been prepared to have, I grabbed a fist full of his shirt and buried my face into his chest, not caring about the still agitated burns sprinkled across my nose and forehead. I feel his arms slowly come up to wrap around me tightly, whispering reassuring words into my ear as I try to thaw from the shock. I suppose somewhere along the way he carries me to bed; I guess I had taken up his couch during the night. I don't fully register anything anymore until he's saying something quietly to me, brushing the hair our of my eyes.

I blink and meet his eyes, which have returned to his usual warm blue, calm and comforting. "I'm alright." I sigh, suddenly feeling my eyes droop dangerously, but I fight off sleep for now. I don't want to face the Peeta I had seen in my nightmare again. He doesn't seem to mind, either. We stay up for almost an hour later, his soothing voice quieting my discomfort and putting me at ease, making the nightmares seem less frightening. Eventually, the thought of sleep seems welcoming to us both, but as I start to doze off he rouses me again. "Katniss?"

"Mmm." I say, eyes barely able to manage the task of staying open, my hand hiding a yawn that I fail to stifle.

"I love you." He says, leaning forwards to give me a light kiss on the forehead. It takes me a few seconds to have the three words unscramble, to make sense, to dawn on me what he just said. I look up at him to see his usual soft smile. One he uses just for me.

I struggle to find the correct words in response to his statement, because even though my mind should be crystal clear in sudden wake, it's clouded immensely by fog. I try to manage a tired smile as I force the first word I can think of that comes to mind, already slipping off into the sleep that didn't torment me.

"Real."


	4. Fresh Wounds

**Author's Note**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim or wish to claim any of the characters I have mentioned and or portrayed. 'The Hunger Games' trilogy is copyrighted to Suzanne Collins and I have no intention of copyright infringement. This is written strictly for entertainment purposes only. Thank you.**

**This is my first Everlark fic so I thank you for reading ^^ Sorry if anyone comes out as OOC on the way. Trying to get the feel of the characters.**

**My God, this chapter is a tad overdue. ._. Not going to be able to upload another for a few days so I made sure to try and make it a tad bit longer than the others. Thank you all for the lovely reviews so far, it's what keeps me motivated and going ;u;**

**Please review and tell me what you think, whether you like it or not! It helps me write better in the long run. **

It was a rare thing to wake up before he did.

At first I have to blink drowsily, expecting to be tucked in the bed, alone, with maybe a quick note that usually said he had work in town as an explanation why. It was a usual habit we both developed; he became a morning person and I became...not a morning person. There were days I didn't move an inch from bed. It wasn't a surprise I was startled to wake up to his sleeping face inches from mine.

I started to wonder if I was dreaming. The soft light that fell through his window – which he loved to leave open, no wonder I needed his warmth – trickled it's way over us, giving Peeta's serene and calm face a heavenly glow. His breath came in a slow, sleep induced rhythm, his chest rising and falling to the tempo, his arm stretched out to hold my head on his forearm. I almost really _do_ think it's a dream to make up all the nightmares, but the throbbing in the back of my head from the still-angry knot says otherwise.

I don't want to move from this spot. This was one of our moments where I wish we could just pause it and lay here for quite a while, comfortable in Peeta's arms, content. Against my own will, I suppressed the longing to fall back asleep and quietly stepped out of bed. Thankfully, he only stirred slightly, but he quickly grew still again and his regular slumber continued. I gave a quick sigh of relief before preparing for the day.

The walk into the slowly stirring district was a short one. Even though Victor's Village is a safe distance from any of the destruction, as ordered by Snow, it didn't take long to step onto the still remaining ashes of the old District 12. I tried to ignore the sand-like padding under my feet as I made my way to the new Hob, game bag in hand, ready for trade.

Greasy Sae immediately laid out the meat as soon as I handed it to her with a soft "Good morning, Katniss," and made a short cluck with her teeth as she approved my kills. "As always, clean kills," She said, and I allowed a small smile to creep onto my face. Even though I'd heard it a thousand times, it always gave me a warm sense of content that Sae still found my hunting skills acceptable, especially on days where I just wanted to curl up in die in a hole but had to hunt for dinner. The smile didn't go unnoticed.

"You're in a good mood today," Sae said, returning my game bag to me, eyebrows arched to form a surprised yet knowing look on her face.

I blinked. "I am?" I say, half asking. I wasn't in any real mood today. At least, not that I know of. Most of the time I'm just miserable except for when I have Peeta as company or the sound of the singing mockingjays in the woods when I hunt. Seeing my smile falter into slight confusion, hers morphed into a sad one and she covered my hand with both of her old and wilted ones.

"Oh, Katniss." She breathes. "You're such a strong woman now."

Her words surprise me. Not even a year ago she would still call me a girl or child, despite myself being sixteen years of age. To call me a woman now when I was almost eighteen still seemed too early for me anyways, too foreign. Calling me strong to go with it almost seemed like a joke.

"But," Sae continued, keeping my attention focused. "Please, don't be too strong. You're only going to break." Finally letting go of my hand and dismissing me, she takes the meat and retreats to her back room, leaving me to my thoughts and her words. Finding nothing else that I need, I turn around and start back. Whatever good mood she might have seen in me was completely gone now.

What did she mean by break? Hadn't I done that already? That was the whole reason I'm now labeled as mentally unstable, after all. I already had broken; I'm just starting to pick up the pieces. The thoughts unsettled me, but I had to put them out of my mind for now. Only then did I realize that I was standing in front of the bakery, a few men from town holding supplies while they looked at me expectantly.

The shop was almost complete. They must have started painting later yesterday, because one entire side was finished with the familiar green we had so often walked past or admired with our noses inches from the glass. I could almost see the delicious baked goods laid out for display, my mouth nearly starting to water at the thought of it all. Peeta was definitely going to be pleased.

"Morning, Katniss!" Thom says, the first words that finally registers with me as I snap out of old memories. "Going hunting today?" He gestures at my bow, slung over my shoulder, with my quiver full of arrows, ready for firing.

I suddenly don't feel like hunting this morning.

"Actually, no," I reply. "I'm here to see if you might want help with any of the work for the bakery."

This comes across as an apparent shock to everyone in the circle, and it's not hard to guess why. For quite a while it was either the forest or my house that were the only two places I ever existed. To hear about me was often. To see me was almost a legendary tale. But ever since I started going into town daily, be it to trade with Greasy Sae or coming with Peeta, it became a regular sight, but now I had blown everyone away by offering help. _Katniss, the almighty Mockingjay with the damaged wings, help?_ I could almost see it flash through their minds, even if for just a second, and it irritated me, but the offer still stood and eventually Thom was forced to give a friendly smile and agree.

I take off my hunting gear, setting them gently against the already-dry painted wall, before slipping off my heavy hunting coat as well. The biting chill that winter still managed to fuse into spring seemed to help keep me focused; a long sleeve shirt was my only defense to battle with the cold, but I didn't mind. Grabbing a paint brush, I set to work right along the others, making light yet firm strokes along the wood.

I found myself thinking of how much time Prim and I had spent staring at the window, longing for the ability to walk into the shop and order one of everything to take home. The warm bread smell was always what drew people in; sometimes people would even make random conversation just to have a reason to stay there and enjoy the lovely smell of bread and the lovely view of sweets, Prim and I being one of them. It wasn't an unpleasant memory. That was something her death couldn't take away from me.

My thoughts strayed to Peeta as I painted. How he sacrificed a hit to the face when we were little, himself against Cato, his complete sanity to the Capitol... all to save me. How he stayed by me to fight back the demons, when he had so many of his own to fend off. The guilt he feels every time he ever has a flashback. The idea that he wanted to do so much for someone so undeserving made me scowl, my brow furrowing as I painted with more force.

"Katniss, are you okay?" Thom's voice, be it suspicious or worried or both, cut a sharp knife through my rising self hatred. I turn to look at him, surprised at his concern, before I realize that I'm shaking. The brush twitches erratically in my hand, the bristles slightly scraping against the wood. I must be colder than I feel; the cold has made me lose feeling in my fingers and is slowly creeping up my whole hand.

I try to swallow. "I'm fine," I say, not sounding convincing by any stretch of the imagination, but any other excuse I plan to make is cut off by a hand closing over mine on the brush, steadying it. Another arm snakes around my waist; his warmth spreading up my back and down my arms. I shivered again, like a bird ruffling it's feathers, but it was no longer because of the cold.

"Bit cold, there?" Peeta asks, almost playfully, and the rustle of clothing tells me he's starting to slip off his jacket.

"Not really," I reply stiffly, tensing as the fabric touches my shoulders. He seems to get the hint and gives a shrug before sticking it back on. Smart boy, he is.

By now Thom and the others have gone back to painting their sections, glancing over to give a wink at us as if to say _"Go on, have some fun for us."_ By Peeta's daily habits at home, I could tell he had always been hard at work around the District. The way he'd always come home a bit later each time, the way he'd move delicately as so not to upset sore muscles, especially on a day where the task was particularly difficult. Getting a day off was something he earned; and by the way he grabs my wrist and hauls me away from the painting in progress, he's eager to use it.

–

"Peeta, where are we going?" I ask, trying not to frown as he flashed me a grin.

"Somewhere," He shrugged, although I knew he was up to something.

We had been trudging through the forest for almost an hour, the trail annoyingly familiar, something I couldn't pinpoint. I had taken my bow with me, hoping for some small game to possibly come along, but Peeta's loud movement made sure well how wrong I was. Even the dullest of rabbit or squirrel knew to stay away from the ruckus caused by the tromping feet of the baker.

If it had been Gale, I would have parted ways a long while ago. Even though the forest was a place of safekeeping for my sanity; it was also to hunt for food that went on the table. To go about in a leisurely stroll was the last thing I wanted. But something about Peeta's spontaneously good mood kept me following after him, my patience miraculously doubling in length the moment I feel like it's almost out. He was almost like a small child wanting to show their mother something they achieved. Taking a deep sigh, I follow, letting him lead me on.

The path is all too familiar. I don't remember taking it, really, or who I took it with, but it was nipping at my memory. Definitely not Gale. The areas we hunted in were far behind us; it was a rare occurrence for us to go adventuring in the forest. We had jobs to do, mouths to feed. We had no time to waste. My irritable mood only grew more as the mention of Gale kept reappearing in my mind; thinking about him only made things worse.

"We're here," Peeta says, grinning wide, his eyes sparking with excitement. He allows me to pass ahead of him and get a good view of it myself. That's when I feel all the color drain from my face and my stomach drops. I knew there was a good reason why it had been making me nervous, how familiar it was.

Before me, with the old cabin still standing faithfully, the water rolling gentle waves amongst the bank, a few reeds poking their way through the shallow waves. Peeta had found the lake. "Oh, Peeta." I say, not hiding the strain in my voice.

He's clearly surprised at my sudden change in behavior; maybe he had done something wrong, or had said something he didn't realize he did, or if I was just tired. "Katniss, are you okay?"

No. I'm not okay. It's not okay. Nothing is ever okay. It wasn't okay before our first Games, it wasn't okay after, it was not okay during the rebellion, and it definitely isn't now. I feel myself starting to shake, more violently than I had this morning. The trembles flow through my whole body, threatening to bring me to my knees, even more so when Peeta rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Katniss?"

"I'm fine." I say quietly under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut tight, biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. "I'm not crying." It was rare that I did ever cry. I wasn't about to do it now.

But I am going to and we both know it. Drawing in a shaky breath, I try to suppress a sob, but it doesn't work and I'm left with trying to cover my mouth as my last reserve. I feel his arms wrap around me, his warm embrace, his hand caressing my head with a few soft words that I don't hear.

Somewhere along the way my knees give out and he's forced to pick me up with the apparent decision to take me home. I don't know if I mind or even really care anymore. Slowly, I was going to become just another empty shell like my mother. He'd have to find someone else to live his life with. Maybe he wanted to spend his time trying to save a poor girl who was trapped in the Games with him from herself. He's definitely wasting his time trying to. The thought hits me with full force, shattering what shards I had begun to pick up. I go limp in his arms, just wishing I'd just die, right then and there. It would stop the nightmares, the painful memories, the scars. Tributes were the lucky ones. The Victors suffer much worse.

Peeta tightens his grip on me to the point of hurting, but it's not a flashback. "Stay with me, Katniss," He says with a low voice.

If only.


	5. Suffer

**Author's Note**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim or wish to claim any of the characters I have mentioned and or portrayed. 'The Hunger Games' trilogy is copyrighted to Suzanne Collins and I have no intention of copyright infringement. This is written strictly for entertainment purposes only. Thank you.**

**This is my first Everlark fic so I thank you for reading ^^ Sorry if anyone comes out as OOC on the way. Trying to get the feel of the characters.**

**Ahhhhh horse shows are so much fun XD I already started working on the next chapter for you all! Thank you for all the lovely reviews and feedback in general, this is so much more than I could ever hope for, thank you guys ;u; This chapter is kind of...moody. I promise some more fluff in the next one. C:**

**Please review and tell me what you think, whether you like it or not! It helps me write better in the long run. **

He's there, smiling, laughing, reaching for my hand. Entwining my fingers in his. Pulling me into his arms, kissing my forehead, telling me something. I don't hear him. I can't.

Confusion spreads across his face, and he takes a step away from me. Why don't I hear him? I open my mouth to speak, but I quickly find my voice is gone. I've been turned into an Avox.

"Katniss! _Katniss!_" A voice screams. I whip my head around, trying to figure out where it's coming from, when he grabs my wrist. Why can I hear everything else, but not him? A mix of emotions flashes across his face, suddenly triggering something, and he's reaching forwards to me again, but this time he wraps his hands around my throat. We sink to the ground, my coughing and sputtering the only thing I hear. I feel a sense of relief as I'm slipping away from this world, sucking in a shaky breath that gets cut off by his hard hands. "Thank you," I manage to hiss, my chest giving one last heave, but not before Rue comes into my view, trapped in a net, a mutt coming to finish her off. "_Katniss, help!_" She screams again, but it's too late. The mutt rips into her and I'm left with nothing but her scream ringing in my ears.

Before I can do anything he's got his arms around me, pinning me and my fighting fists to his chest, stroking my hair and soothing me. "Shhhh, Katniss, shhh, you're safe, it's just a nightmare," Peeta says, holding me tight, lulling my frightened cries and horrid thrashing to tear-driven hiccups and trembles. Before, I would resort to freezing like a deer in his arms, letting shock overwhelm me for a few minutes before sleep finally seemed convincing. Now, there's no point in holding back tears. I don't have anyone to be strong for anymore. Peeta isn't as broken as I am, but he still has a lot of healing himself to do. I hate him and I love him for it at the same time. Overall, I hate myself the most, for letting him stay around.

I'm startled when he touches my forehead, and then my cheek. "You're warm," He says, frowning, the sleep in his voice fading with every word. He rises out of bed. "Stay here."

"It's just a cold –" I start to protest, trying to follow, but he gives a curt shake of his head. "Cold or not, you need rest either way."

As if agreement, Buttercup slinks through the door, yowling with perfect timing. We both glance at him as he takes his perch at the foot of the bed, giving me a half hearted hiss, but still watching over me. Peeta gives me a pointed look before stepping out of the room. "I really should have drowned you," I snap irritably at the old cat, but he ignores me with only a flick of his tail at recognition to the insult.

It isn't hard to guess when Peeta is returning; his loud movements are signal enough. He first pokes his head around the door before allowing his body to follow, as if checking to see if I was still here, before handing me a glass of water. I mutter a short and quick "Thanks," before taking a slow sip.

"Drink all of that before you go back to sleep," He ordered, sounding like he had when we were in training for the Quell. I felt the hint of a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, deciding not to argue with him. Not that I had the strength to do it.

In under ten minutes, the glass sat on the nightstand, empty, but for some reason sleep didn't seem to look appealing to me anymore. Neither did anything else, really. If anything, the closet sounded like a good idea, but it was still Peeta's house and I was still a guest, as strange as it seemed. He was already asleep again, having dozed while I drank the water, jerking his head up after every thirty seconds to see if I was still drinking it, slipping into full slumber after I shook the empty glass in front of him.

Quietly creeping out of the room and down the stairs, I take a seat beside one of the house's larger windows and stare out of it. Right directly at the remains and rubble of my old home.

The wood was charred, the structure ruined. The roof lay across everything, looking just as it had before collapsing, but in a burned pile. What once was white wall was now black and crumbling, collapsed and laying in pieces all over the yard. Nobody could find a thing salvageable if they tried.

My eyes trace the outline of where the rooms were; Mother's was on the far end of the house, where she could study in private, with Prim's down the hall. I remembered how I had chosen the room with the window, the one I could sit in for hours, just watching, observing the town beyond the Victors Village in the dead of night. Thinking about a forced marriage between me and Peeta, the Quell, what would happen to Prim and my mother.

That's when I remembered about them. The primroses. Resting my attention on them – or their remains – I observe the true destruction. I still remember when Peeta had planted them for me, when my pit of depression was at it's peak. When he was still trying to figure things out. When he asked me if my love for him was real or not real. My response. The brilliantly yellow flowers that had signaled Prim, not only her and her death, but my _acceptance _of her death, now lay dead. Wilted and crushed and burned. It takes me a few moments of staring at them before something falls on my hand in my lap and I realize I'm crying.

I don't sob, though. I don't sniffle, hold my breath, squeeze my eyes shut, or even feel any emotion. The tears just fall quietly, softly, silently, as if becoming my own was of reassurance that things would be better. I smile bitterly. The Games and the war have finally stolen even the ability to feel anything, leaving me only with memories and the guilty conscience that makes me remember them daily and face the ghosts of the people killed. Maybe death really was the easy way out.

"Katniss?"

I turn my head and see Peeta on the stairs, eyebrows raised drowsily, stifling a yawn, with his disheveled hair and sleepy gaze. My mood lightens and I can afford the effort of a soft smile. As early as he rose, he was never a true morning person.

"I'm alright." I say, managing to wipe my tears when I pretend to rub at my eyes. He seems a bit too dazed to notice as he fumbles down the stairs and into the seat across from me.

"What are you doing up?" He asked, the sleep starting to slightly lift from his voice as he looked out the window. I could see his muscles stiffen as the house displayed itself in his view. Whatever morning daydream he might have been in was completely gone now; he seemed to jolt awake. When he turned his eyes to me, they were full of worry.

"Peeta, it's fine," I say simply, returning my gaze to the house. "It doesn't bother me – "

"It does to me."

His answer surprises me and I look at him again. He's looking at me, inspecting me, trying to find a hint of pain or suffering, something he can hold on to and make reasoning behind his last sentence. It almost leaves me triumphant when he seems to find none; but it doesn't keep him at bay with all those "therapeutic" questions Dr. Aurelius had given him. I labeled them as downright annoying.

"It really doesn't bother you? Seeing that?" He asks slowly, deciding not to go with his usual 'Are you okay?'. That had become a dangerous question to ask between us.

I shrug, my knees curled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. "Not really."

He's quiet when I reply, thinking about my answer, letting his still slightly confused brain to shuffle the two words before he makes his next question. "Why?"

"No amount of moping, crying, depression, fits, screaming...nothing will change it." I say, pulling my head down into my arms, hoping I could hide altogether. Turtles were my new subject of envy, it seemed. "Not the memory of the Games...not the war that made history... the house...Prim..." I turn bitter again and so does my laugh. "Hard to believe this all started with just two little slips of paper."

There he goes again. That silence, the stillness. The habit had developed whenever I said something that caught him off guard. He had to think about this one cautiously. I was lying in wait for a correct answer. He was searching for one.

"Even if.." He says, drawing out his words, his eyes trained on me, his brow creasing with concentration on how to spit the words out without sending me into hysterics. Not that I would have any.

"Even if it wouldn't bring anything – or anyone – back... I don't think it's very wise to bottle yourself up like this."

I think of Sae and Dr. Aurelius as he says these things. Both have said the exact same thing, each ending with their own version of the same fate. Insanity. _Death is still the better option, it seems._

"I don't want you to keep your feelings from me," Peeta continues, hiding a scowl at his self frustration. "It makes me feel guilty to know that you're suffering and you won't tell me, or even anyone else... I feel like I've failed to protect you. To help you."

His feelings are coming out much faster than he anticipated and the red spreads all across his face in embarrassment. For a second he truly is the boy I knew, the one who wasn't torn apart and forced to grow up so much quicker than he needed to, just like I was. For a second he was the boy I had fallen in love with.

"You haven't failed, Peeta." I say, poking my head out of my 'shell', reaching out a hand to take his. "You've done so much for me, more than you can ever know." _And remember._ "Don't worry too much about me." _I don't deserve your companionship anyways. _

This seems to put him at peace, even if for only a little while before he finds another excuse to fret over me. "Thank you." He says quietly.

On to another topic, it seems. "What are you even doing up?"

I blink, confused by his question. I was only gone for about five minutes, did he really think I had done something stupid within that short of a time span? "I couldn't sleep. I thought I could use a few minutes to myself down here."

"A few minutes? Katniss, it's been a few _hours_." He says, trying not to laugh. "The sun's almost starting to rise. I fell asleep just past one."

Now I'm the one caught off guard. _I sat here for a few hours?_ Whatever fatigue that had been kept at bay by my thoughts now came crashing down on me, hitting me all at once. The stiffness, the heavy feeling, the tired eyes, the reluctance to move or stay awake further. My signs of sudden tiring don't go unnoticed; Peeta chuckles in his usual way whenever I've done something amusing in his eyes.

Then his arms are lifting me up and he's trudging up the stairs, nearly cradling me, something he knows he's only allowed to do on certain occasions. Appreciation floods through me; had he not been there I would have just fallen asleep where I sat without a care in the world.

"Get some rest," He tries to tell me, but we already both know that rest is already marked down for at least half the day, if not the whole. Pulling the covers over my shoulders, he debates with himself if he should, but he kisses my forehead gently anyways.

I stay awake long enough to hear his shoes lightly shuffle unevenly over the wooden floor before he stops at the doorway. He heaves out a big sigh, as if it were a bit more effort to breathe than he was used to.

"Don't leave me behind in this place, alright?" He asks me, almost to himself, and my eyes open wide with shock, my back turned, my body frozen in place. Eventually he sighs again and I hear him walk down the hall, down the steps, and even hear the soft _click_ of the door closing downstairs.

He had seen through my plans before I had even thought of them, just like he had figured out the Games before they even begun.

I roll over and fix my eyes on the doorway. _But death is always the better option, isn't it?_ I think. No more pain, no more suffering, no more scars or memories or reputation. No more being the poor crazy girl, Katniss, from District 12 who went insane after the war. Dr. Aurelius had already tried to convince me that the nickname 'Crazy Katniss' only spread in the Capitol, but it was often I would hear the name catch in the wind when the children who's families had come back to Twelve were running by.

I frown, thinking of Peeta. I didn't deserve him or his love; why should he waste his time? I didn't want marriage, kids, everything he _did_. He would be so much better off with me dead. He could spend his life on someone who would treat him far better than I ever have. I'm the town's mental patient. I was going to end up unrepairable, one way or the other.

Being too tired to think any of it over further, I close my eyes, trying to shut out images of the Games and the war that already threatened to ruin my oncoming sleep with dreadful dreams. Another thing death would bring.

The end of the nightmares.


	6. Shatter

_A/N: Figured it was time to quit with the Disclaimers and such XD SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT._

_I kind of lied, sorry, not a whole lot of fluff (if any) in this one ;A; I tried!_

_Review and tell me what you think? I'd appreciate it deeply! 3 I've gotten such nice ones already, you guys are the ones that keep me going ;u;_

It's not until the front door slams so violently the entire house nearly rattles that I'm finally awoken.

I'm scrambling out of bed, on my feet, pulling an arrow from my quiver and grabbing my bow that sat by the doorway, turning my hunting mode on as the noise still continued. Instantly I recognized the hushed incoherent muttering. Peeta's.

Staying at the top of the stairs, I duck my head, trying to listen, to maybe catch a word or two, but it's useless. He's in a frenzy of words, pacing like a mad man. I can tell he had a bad flashback at work. Seeing me will only set him off again.

Quietly, I straighten again, fixing my eyes on the target – the floorboard just between his feet – and knock back an arrow. The shock should be enough to snap him out of it. I think. As my fingers slip off of the bowstring, the weapon makes a whistling noise as it cuts through the air before lodging right where I wanted it. I could see him freeze, falling silent, and a feeling of smugness washes over me.

"Katniss?" He asks slowly, his anger gone now. He slowly looks up to meet my eyes at the stairs. I must look as crazy as I feel, because there's a sudden startled look about him that seemed a bit more panicked than when I had actually shot the arrow at him. He thinks I've actually went over the edge. Lovely.

Maybe he can prepare for when I actually do.

Trying to approach me like I assume he would a wounded animal, he slowly takes a few small steps towards the stair opening. Setting my bow and quiver down, I lock eyes on him, which seems to keep him frozen in his place again.

"That door slam probably could have woken Haymitch out of a coma," I finally say, a little stiffly. It was hard enough to wake that drunkard when he was merely asleep. To wake him from a coma is a far stretch of the imagination. Peeta seems to relax at the mention of this, though.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He says. "It's alright, though. I'm f–"

"No, you aren't." I cut him off, crossing my arms and closing the distance of the stairs between us. "You had another attack at the bakery, didn't you?"

He refuses to meet my gaze as he swallows, his brow furrowing in what I take to be guilt. "No," He lies, rather pathetically.

Now I'm angry. "Peeta, don't hide this from me!" I cry, giving him a slight smack. "I don't hide from you!" He winces as my hand leaves a sting, but doesn't back down. Instead, he just goes silent.

"I punched Thom today. Broke his nose." He said, barely able to hear. "About three of the guys had to hold me down. I don't really remember what happened... but apparently I was shouting about the things you did..or didn't do.. in the Quell." His jaw tightens. "Mags. Wiress. The beach."

The bottom of my stomach gives out when his words reach me. He still doesn't remember everything, even though our countless sessions of sitting down at my dinner table and telling stories, the hours of 'Real or Not Real'. He's still not the Peeta I fell in love with.

But I'm not the Katniss he fell in love with either.

"What about the beach?" I ask quietly.

He takes a deep breath, like it's an effort just to suck in air, and lets it out slow. I gently guide him over to his dining room table, sitting across from him, waiting patiently. Not that I have a choice; his clenching and un-clenching of his fists is sign enough that he's fighting back a flashback again while his thoughts are muddled. Eventually his hands relax, and he looks at them while he forces out the words.

"You were planning to kill me and then split up from the others to fend on your own. Real or not real?"

It still catches me off guard every time we play this game. The things the Capitol twisted his mind to believe were truly stunning and cruel. "Not real." I say, slightly ruffled. "I was planning to split up from the others, yes, but we were going to do it together."

He considers my answer for a moment, looking relieved, but he doesn't hesitate firing off another question this time. "You killed Wiress. Real or not real?"

"Not real." I say, hiding my agitation. I thought he already knew that; surely the Capitol's hijacking didn't replace memories all over again with the artificial nightmares. But then again; it was Snow's game. Peeta's treatment could have been the lowest blow of most.

"You shoved Mags into the fog. Real or – "

"Not real!" I cry, cutting him off, launching from my seat. My outburst clearly surprises us both; we stare at each other, startled, silence now seeping into our path. I tear my gaze away from him. "Not real," I mumble. "Sorry."

The silent atmosphere lengthens as I sit back down. Why, of all the times we've played his little game, has it not bothered me until now? Is it because we've already played that version? He's asked me about the Quell over so many things, so many times... It's not normal, is it? I jump when I hear him start to laugh.

It's not his usual amused laugh. It's sad and quiet and almost feels like it's full of guilt. He doesn't go about hiding it very well; his eyes are closed and his head is tilted down, letting his blonde hair help cover his misery. This is what the Games have reduced him to. This is what the Games have reduced _us_ to.

"I'm so– " I begin, trying to apologize again, but he rises from his chair and is wrapping his arms around me and giving me a squeeze so tight it makes me wonder if it's one of his flashbacks controlling him. He buries his face into the crook of my neck, his warmth engulfing me as I wrap my arms around his neck. "Shhh, Peeta," I say quietly, smoothing his hair slowly and gently. "Shhh, I'm here. You're safe."

By the way he's suddenly lightly shuddering I know he's doing his best to hold back whatever tears he hasn't shed in nearly a year and a half. Peeta cries about as much as I do; very rarely. He tries to convince me that I need to openly cry and let my feelings out when possible, while standing back and holding everything in himself. How selfish I had been. He's been not only fighting his own but protecting me from mine.

"Don't hold it back," I say in a light whisper, holding him tighter, and that's when his time to break. The boy with the bread I had known so long ago to have truly been my Peeta stood in my arms, finally shaking and letting the tears come like the child inside we had both been forced to abandon so early on. I gently slide to the floor with him, consoling him, whispering comforting words that I'm not sure he hears. It's like we've suddenly switched roles; not yet two or three days ago I was doing the exact same. I wondered if this was the way how Peeta felt back then, miserable and helpless and wishing you could erase those horrible memories.

Eventually his sobs reduced to hiccups, his shaking turned to stillness, his breathing slow and weary. His head rests on my collarbone, his hands laying limply by his side, but I don't let go of him. I still talk quietly, running my fingers through his hair, then flattening it again with a smooth and gentle touch. He never speaks, but takes my hand in his, which I give a tight squeeze. "Always," I whisper to him. "Real." I repeat the words, over and over, because he already knows what they mean. He doesn't have to ask a thousand times to truly remember.

Eventually his breathing deepens and I'm sure he's asleep. I continue combing back his longer hair – he needs to get it cut – and feel content to stay there, on the floor, holding him. Loving him. Never letting him go. I sit there, unmoving except for the words that come out of my mouth and my fingers that gently caress his head. I don't know how long we sit like this, nor do I care; time seems irrelevant to us now. I know I'm dozing by the time he wakes up, though, because he startles and I jump and smack my head on the dining table.

"Katniss?" He asks drowsily, blinking, but he snaps out of it once my face distorts into a lot of words I have half to the mind to snarl out. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Did I – " His own face goes pale as he thinks of all the things he could have possibly done.

"No, no, you didn't do anything. I was being stupid." I said, rubbing the spot where impact took place. "It's okay."

"Let me see it," He orders, stubbornly rising to try and pry my hand off of it. I clamp my hand down, just as bad as he is, and let him try to take it off of my head all he likes. "Katniss, stop being difficult, I only want to look!"

Both of us our scowling, arched up like cobras, struggling for control atop my head, but suddenly both of us are quiet. His face is so close to mine, his hand is in mine atop my head, a frozen battle bound to be forgotten; the only sound now in the room is our breathing. My grey eyes meet his brilliant blue ones, the ones that are searching for any hint of lies, distrust, betrayal. I know he'll find nothing. I know he does because the next moment he crashes his lips down on mine. Wanting. Needy. Hungry. We lose track of where we are, what time it is, or even what needs doing. All I feel is him, and what we are doing _now;_ his soft lips pressed against mine, his hands cupping my face, his body pressed against mine. He was always so much better at this than I was when we kissed. But that had been all for show; now we have no cameras watching, no Capitol people shouting our name, no forced romance. It seemed so different now. So real. Whole. Like the Peeta Mellark I had kissed in the cave, who truly thought we were in love then, he kissed me with as much passion as he had done almost a year and a half ago.

Suddenly he breaks away, and I restrain myself from giving a little cry of disappointment. "You love me. Real or -"

I have his lips on mine again with a barely uttered "Real." This time, he doesn't object.


End file.
